


Solace

by zombified419



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, FrostIron - Freeform, Loki is a monk (kind of), London is old, M/M, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony blows shit up, Tony isn't Iron Man, Who are the Avengers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified419/pseuds/zombified419
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>solace [säləs] :noun: comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony Stark sure as hell wasn't religious. Like, ever. But even he had to admit when he was in trouble, and going to a sanctuary seemed to work for other people. Sometimes a little too well.</p><p>Persecution was something Tony dealt with daily - that's why he hid. This time, he fucked up. There wasn't much he could do to fix it other than lay low, which he was not good at, but beggars can't be choosers and Pepper was already pissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

* * *

Tony Stark sure as hell wasn't religious. Like, _ever._ But even he had to admit when he was in trouble, and going to a sanctuary seemed to work for other people. Sometimes a little too well. 

Persecution was something Tony dealt with daily - that's why he hid. This time, he fucked up. There wasn't much he could do to fix it other than lay low, which he was _not_ good at, but beggars can't be choosers and Pepper was already pissed. 

After his... _fiasco,_ Pepper wired some money to a remote location and texted Tony the coordinates. He signed for a check under a pen name ( _Stark Ravenwood, ha)_ and threw his old phone away. Tony bought a new one, texted Pepper the number, and hooked it to JARVIS by using an Internet café that was ungodly expensive per hour. Good thing he was there for all of ten minutes. 

The media was all a buzz, and so far, no one had connected the incident to the exact area Tony Stark was vacationing at. Only Pepper and JARVIS knew, not even Rhodey or Happy, and now also the better half of London had watched the Eye sink, smoldering, into the River Thames. Tony knew first hand how much _heat_ it took to melt metal so efficiently, but he sure as hell wasn't talking. 

His impromptu holiday was now turning from a week to a _whenever-the-fuck people stopped tweeting pictures._ Which could be weeks. Tony wasn't thrilled, but Pepper had his back and he had JARVIS so it wasn't all bad. 

Except, he now stood in front of one of the oldest, still in use churches in London. The Church of Saint Bartholomew the Great had survived the Great Fire of London and both world wars. It was so _old_ and _beautiful._ Tony was the first to admit that he loved technology, and he wasn't shy about it. Seeing this magnificent church, literally almost a thousand years old, withstand the trails of time and human pro- and regression was amazing. As if Tony were taking a step back in time, an ancient precipice amongst a concrete jungle, he stepped over the threshold. 

The church had obviously been restored several times, and was very well cared for. Tony pushed his hood back after the sun couldn't reach him, sticking to the walls to avoid a few tourists. He kept his sunglasses on to hide his eyes. They told too much, and after shaving his usual goatee, being caught was the last thing he needed. 

The chapel was massive, literally three stories high, with swooping Medieval architecture that even Tony found charming. High arches lined the walls where the monks would stand, just beyond the long hardwood pews. The sights were breathtaking, and for the first time in nearly two weeks, Tony Stark felt _calm._

He found it ironic, as his fingers drifted along the cool stone, that a man of absolutely no religious belief and was previously hunted by it would still seek the oldest monastery he could find for refuge. Well, not exactly a _man,_ but he knew his point. 

Tony drifted along the walls, fingers barely grazing, as he breathed easy. Despite the usual heat attacks he felt after a display, he felt cool in the shade of the arches and it's calming air. Tourists murmured all around him, but he felt alone. He _needed_ to be alone. 

There were several plaques scattered about, explaining the history of the church. Tony again marveled at the structure's age, and the community that seemed to never want to let it fall to ruin. It underwent changes and time shifts and devastation, but still persevered. The thought was becoming, and Tony felt a kinship to the old building. 

Regardless of how ruined he became or how thoroughly he destroyed his own life, there were still people around who wanted to help him pick up and begin anew. 

_But was destroying the Eye of London really something to bounce back from?_ Tony snorted; he had a point. 

His life was much longer than any normal person. Sure, he looked like a man hitting his stride in his thirties, but he physically was far older than the very church he stood in. How the hell was _that_ fair? 

Tony felt his mood souring, so he left the history plaque and headed toward the pews. People sat, obviously in prayer, making Tony head toward the pew closer to the back hallway. The hallway was far cooler than even the chapel, with a nice cross breeze that stirred Tony's hair. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hands jammed in his pocket. It smelled like an area that obviously didn't see too much light, cold and slightly damp, and Tony would even go so far as to say that it smelled _dark._ Instead of sitting at one of the pews like he had intended, he leaned against the wall closest to him and just watched. 

People walked easily, kids pointing excitedly to everything all around and pulling their parents along by the hand. The pews filled and emptied as those praying left and new tourists sat. Tony wondered how many were there for the intention of the building, and how many were like him. Those in the chapel continued with life as if they had no idea of the monster lurking in the shadows behind them. 

Tony wasn't sure how long he stood and watched, shifting his weight occasionally, the line of the sun along the floor receding. He knew the church was still a functioning church, so when he heard calls of the building closing to the public he pushed himself further into his corner. He didn't want to leave, and if they caught him, he would just play it off. He was Tony Stark. He could totally do it. 

Monks began to file in, a few walking nearly a foot away from him. He pulled his presence in, mentally making himself as invisible as possible, and pulled his hood up. He dropped his usual flashy clothing in honour of his new profession as a fugitive, opting more for dark and dim. Easier to blend. 

Whatever ritual they were setting up for began. Tony had stopped paying attention to religion when the last one attempted to hunt him down and slay him. He wasn't a stereotype, dammit - he just preferred to be left _alone._ Why was it so damn _hard?_

Times had become much more tolerant as he aged, prompting him to leave what little refuge he had made and branch out. He found technology, or the _beginning_ of it, and embraced it. Tony could see the potential that others could not, too set in their ways. 

Plus, it was all so _shiny._ Tony really, really liked shiny things. 

He spent most of his time in what humans called Italy, adopting the name Anthony instead of his birth name. He trained under geniuses, too early for their advances to really be worthwhile. In New York, at an art exhibit, he had seen one of his master's notebooks on display. Tony wasn't very emotional, but seeing what he had seen first hand displayed in all its aged wonder brought a tear to his eye. Once home, safe in his tower, he pulled down a box full of his own notes with his master's elegant scrawl in the margins. He never missed another Da Vinci exhibit again. 

The monks were standing, pulling Tony from his reverie. He pulled tighter into himself as they began to file out, all heads bowed with rosaries clasped in their hands. He watched them one by one, all equally same as the last - hoods drawn up and walking in time, right foot left foot. One caught his attention, a few strands of dark hair escaping the hood. 

Tony tilted his head in confusion - he may not care, but he knew not looking exactly as the others within your clique couldn't be allowed. Still, as he watched, the monk never fixed his hood or pushed back his hair. Actually, he wasn't even carrying a rosary. Huh. 

Tony tracked his movement, not needing to watch too closely. Once he had something in his attention, it was hard to shake him. The monk drew closer to where they would turn down the hallway right next to Tony. 

_He's going to see me._ Suddenly, Tony's heart began to beat wildly. He was frozen, too nervous to leave. He didn't want to be discovered - did he? 

_He's going to see me._ The monk was closer, and Tony tried to remember to breathe. This wouldn't be so bad if he was caught. So what? He didn't notice until it was too late and he didn't want to interrupt. Sorry, see ya. Tony got the distinct feeling he was lying to himself. 

There was something different about that monk's presence. He drifted slowly, as they all did, head down. Those few black strands were met with more, as if he had too much of it and didn't bother to tie it back before pulling his robes on. 

Tony gulped. The monk was _feet_ away now, with only two people between them. He needed to control his breathing, or else the monk would _hear_ him before seeing him. 

When it was his time to turn, the monk hesitated. Tony held his breath. _He's going to see me and he's going to know what I am._

Tony continued to stare, transfixed, as the monk raised his head. He had been right about all that hair - long and dark, and now a curtain blocking the side of his face from the chapel. His eyes were green, so _green_ \- as green as the purest cut emerald that Tony used to horde. They were his favourite, prized higher than even rubies and gold. He felt his breath steal away as their eyes met, emerald to the honey gold behind his shades. In that second, he felt laid out bare, his instincts fighting to burst forward. 

_Mine._

Then it was over, and the monk was turning the corner, and Tony could breathe. He watched the line continue their file, feeling his heart thump wildly. He felt winded, electrified - his very blood whirled hotly with intensity. It was such a feeling he hadn't felt in years, hundred of _years,_ and now he needed it back. 

He stumbled from the church minutes later, after all the monks were gone. Tony was giddy, feeling like he was on a high, and giggled. He slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle it, but it didn't work. He giggled louder as he walked pass the church's small courtyard. He knew it extended around the building, but the part open to public was small. 

Tony sighed and leaned against the wall nearest him, his back to the courtyard, and let all the laughter bubble out. It was manic and wild and he nearly _roared_ , but he didn't care. He let it happen, let the sound wreck his body as his sides began to hurt. What had he _seen,_ what had those eyes _promised_ him? 

"Have you gone _mad?"_

The question sobered Tony immediately, reminding him that he was in public and that he couldn't go roaring outside of a damn church. He looked around for the voice, cursing himself for letting his guard down. Still not finding it, he heard a sigh. 

"No one _ever_ looks up." Tony did, and felt his throat seize up. There, above him, framed in a curtain of black hair, were those _emeralds._ They were shimmery and bright and full of mischief, and Tony felt that same feeling overcome him. The need to have, to _possess._

"Good thing this isn't a horror movie, then," he heard himself drawl. The monk smiled, a small raise of lips that had Tony reeling. 

"What were you doing inside?" The monk asked. Tony grinned - straight to the point, huh? 

"I got lost," Tony answered. He looked for the stairs to where the monk was and headed up. He turned as Tony walked to his level, elbow still resting along the wall he had been leaning on. He still wore his robes, but his hood was back, exposing a very pale neck with all his hair pulled to one side. Tony physically had to resist licking his lips. "Didn't realize what was going on until it already started." 

"I see you don't read very often," the monk answered, tone light. Tony was loving his voice. "The schedule is posted on more than one location. As well as the website." 

Tony stopped a few feet away. He wasn't sure he could resist if he stood too close - being so close to recently transforming heightened all of his senses for weeks, and damn if this man didn't smell _intoxicating._ "I'll be sure to keep it in mind next time." 

The monk smirked coyly. "What brought you here, to the patron saint of martyrdom?" 

Tony found the question odd; this monk wasn't at all what he remembered monks to be. Quiet, reserved, and terrified of him. He wasn't sure this man knew, _exactly,_ what he was tempting, but Tony couldn't find it in him to care. The monk walked further into the garden, folding his arms into his sleeves. Tony followed. 

"Just wandering around, honestly," he answered. The monk nodded, still ahead of him. "I wanted a place to breathe." 

"This church has lived a long history. People of all faiths and conditions seem to drift here, lost in whatever problems that Bartholomew has seen fit to guide to here. Some find their answers, and others do not," the monk said. He turned, eyes suddenly sharp. "Did you find yours?" 

Tony blinked, thankful for the safety his sunglasses gave. He doubted it would matter, this man had an uncanny way of looking directly _through_ him. This man, who obviously wasn't a monk in a traditional sense, had seen and later sought him out. Tony had lived a very long time, and coincidences weren't something he believed in anymore. Things happened for a reason, and Tony wanted to selfishly believe that this man was his reason. 

"I think so," he answered honestly. He smiled, then, seeking the other out. The monk held a controlled expression, one that spoke of practiced patience, but when their eyes met something flashed that would have surprised Tony if he hadn't been prepared - that same intense feeling of possession, and this time Tony didn't try to veil his instincts. 

The monk's eyes widened just a fraction, but not in fear, instead _fascination._ Tony counted that for a win. He knew, from years of experience, that his predator instincts weren't something to be taken lightly. They were to be embraced or locked away, and with all the solace he had attempted within others, it all ended in being shoved aside. 

Emerald seemed to want to accept it, if even out of mere curiousity. A curious monk wasn't a traditional monk, meant to be meek and ever accepting of the truths given to him. Years had given Tony patience; a patient dragon was a dangerous one, but one who took great pleasure in what he deemed worthy of his patience and attention. 

"Who are you?" The monk asked quietly. Before, there had been a few feet between them. Now, he advanced slowly, the look of curiousity not quite wiped from his eyes. "Bartholomew has brought you here for some reason - who _are_ you?" 

"I wouldn't say Bart would extent his hand to me," Tony answered. The monk was closer now, almost within arm's reach. Tony felt his nostrils flare - _lavender, books, tea, warmth_ \- as his scent literally blew his mind. _Patience._ "I'm usually the type to just _wander."_

"Wander across large distance," the monk muttered. Tony watched his fingers twitch, now only two feet away. "To what avail?" 

"I've asked myself that before, and I still don't have an answer," Tony answered, matching the monk's low tone. He wanted to take his glasses off, to see what this monk's reaction would be. Would he shrink away, run off into the safety of his brethren as many have done before? Or would he stare, transfixed as Tony had been inside the church, and become lost? Yeah, he selfishly wanted the second. 

"You are not what you appear to be," the monk whispered. His tone wasn't accusatory, merely curious, but Tony couldn't help his flinch. He covered it by looking to his side and plastered on a grin. Not too large, because even he knew he looked menacing with those sharper fangs. 

"Neither are you," he answered. "What kind of monk doesn't carry a rosary?" 

The monk smirked slightly, but didn't pull away. He was only a few inches taller than Tony, he noticed. "Very perceptive. That is because I am not a monk, in the traditional sense. Those around both respect and fear, comparing me only to those holy wielders long before our time." 

Tony felt the surprise etch his features - it made sense. Not caring about his monkly appearances, keeping his hair long instead of short, oddly outspoken and curious. The lack of the rosary should have really alarmed Tony, but he was too caught up to piece the puzzle together. He certainly hoped he wouldn't regret it. 

"A mage," the monk supplied for him. "Or, I prefer, a sorcerer." 

The magic Tony spent long years learning to suppress fought to burst forth. It explained their odd connection in the chapel and why the monk - _sorcerer_ \- was obviously seeking him out. He was here, in the only place that wouldn't destroy him for his gifts, under the sanctuary of those who understood him. Suddenly, it wasn't the chapel that Tony had felt the kinship with, but the lone beauty that dwelled within. 

Tony wanted to know _more._ "Who are you?" 

"As asked first," the sorcerer answered softly. He still stood within reach, and now Tony was fighting both instinct and magic to stop from drawing the man in. 

"Anthony da Vinci," he answered, feeling the need to continue. "Now, Tony Stark. Before all of that, Stark of Ravenwood." 

The sorcerer's eyes lit up brighter than ever, and Tony could feel the edges of magic teasing his own. "You have dropped the accents well, harbinger of sorrow. What do you prefer?" 

Tony wasn't surprised the sorcerer knew the rest of his title. His magic was such a traitor sometimes. "Tony." 

"Anthony it is, then," the man answered, smirk coy and eyes light with mischief. "I am merely Loki Laufey, now _humbly_ in the presence of one such as yourself. However, to those who do not understand, I have been called a god." 

Tony snorted, grin spreading. "Of mischief, maybe. You're a snarky bastard." 

Loki smirked, folding his arms into his robe again. "At least your kind lives up to reputation - however, I imagined my first dragon to be _taller."_

" _Hey!"_ Tony squeaked, looking around quickly. "Don't go throwing around the 'D'-word. You may be open and shit, but I've worked hard keeping my life a secret." 

"And what will you do to silence me, Stark of Ravenwood?" Loki asked, his tone a poorly veiled challenge. Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. 

"Don't tempt me," he growled. The sound was deep and threatening, but the sorcerer only seemed more interested. 

"Would you prefer offerings of gold and worship?" Tony knew Loki was intentionally trying to irritate him, and it was working. He was known to have a somewhat bad temper (just ask that ass he torched on the Eye) regardless of the patience routines he had worked out for himself. Here this sorcerer was, throwing Tony into a literal whirlwind of every emotion possible in a short thirty minutes, and pressing _hard._

"I prefer _emeralds,"_ Tony answered. He was pleased to see the slight widening of the man's eyes as understanding dawned, bright and deep, before that infuriating smirk was back in place. 

"Is that so?" He answered coyly. Tony felt cool fingers pull his hands from his zipper hoodie to the charged air around them. He wondered why he didn't notice it before, the obvious electricity between them, while he walked up the stairs. It was as if there was a field around them, and the closer they came, the stronger it was. "In that case, I may have a worthy offering." 

Tony let himself be pulled forward the final step or so between them; Loki dropped his hands and gently pushed his sunglasses up to his forehead. His fingers were cool and Tony wanted to trust him _so bad,_ but he snapped his eyes shut. He knew what they were - mainly gold with the beginning flecks of his usual honey filtering back in. Transforming caused his body to shift dramatically, and his eyes were usually the last to get the memo. 

"Open your eyes," Loki whispered, his breath ghosting over Tony's lips. He licked his lips, his honed ears catching the sharp intake of breath from the sorcerer. His senses heightened without his sight, drawing his attention to the erratic heartbeat of the man before him. Good - at least he wasn't the only nervous one. 

"Please," he asked, breath soft and enticing. Tony steeled himself, suddenly not wanting the look of disgust he was expecting. Not from Loki; anyone but Loki. 

" _Please."_ Tony bit the inside of his cheek and opened his eyes. He stared at Loki, who's own eyes were bright and full of wonder, catching the soft rays of sunlight still drifting lazily around. It felt like forever ago that Tony was laughing himself stupid against the very wall Loki had been watching from. Now, he felt like he knew him long before then. 

That same intense feeling flooded him, the need to keep and protect and _possess_ the man before him. He could feel Loki's fingers trembling against his temples, as if they struggled to hold his sunglasses up. He didn't know what the sorcerer was feeling, but he was willing to bet his entire fortune that it was the same thing he felt. 

Tony wrapped his arms around Loki's waist tightly, not surprised to feel a slender frame under all those damn robes. The sorcerer gasped, surprised, his hands pulling away. Tony didn't let him get far - he tilted his chin up and caught Loki's parted lips. 

It took all of Tony's restraint to not devour the man. He tasted _wonderful,_ and made the best sounds Tony had ever heard. He had expected at least a _little_ resistance, even if it was just from surprise, but Loki kissed back with a fervor that left Tony panting. He mapped as much of the sorcerer's mouth as he could before the man reacted. Then, it was a _battle._

Loki bit and nipped back with all the intensity Tony felt. He dropped his hands from Tony's face to his shoulders, hauling their bodies together. Tony felt like his blood was on _fire,_ and there was no way Loki could be this cold and still be living. But he was very much alive, if fighting Tony for dominance in the kiss was any indication. Tony's teeth were sharp, and when they finally had to pull back for air, he caught the edge of Loki's lip and drew blood. 

They panted into each other's mouth for a moment, Tony attempting to steal the very breath from Loki. His chest heaved not only from gulping oxygen, but from the intense _want_ pooling in his very core. Loki wore a similar expression, his eyes screaming what Tony could feel. He broke their gaze for a moment only because the sight of Loki's blood drew him. 

A single trail, bright crimson against such pale skin, pooled in the swell of kissed lips and now nearly to his chin. Tony darted his tongue out and stopped it from drifting lower, tracing back to the start and sucking lightly. His blood was sweeter than any candy he had ever sampled in all his years. Loki wrapped a palm around the back of his neck and squeezed, moaning softly. 

"I'm sure you know what happens now," Tony muttered, his lips grazing Loki's with every syllable. The sorcerer was trembling, his grip like iron on Tony's neck and shoulders. 

"I shall need only a moment to pack," Loki answered, his tone equally low. Tony smirked and pressed a soft kiss, licking the small bead of new blood away. _Intoxicating._

"I'll never let you go," Tony continued, his voice reminiscent of a growl. Loki chuckled, the sound melodic to Tony. 

"I do not intent otherwise," the sorcerer answered. "Dragons are possessive creatures, but as are sorcerers. Can you handle me?" 

Tony laughed, nuzzling along Loki's jaw. Of course the one in literally billions that would be perfect for him would be as _cocky_ as he is. "I enjoy a challenge." 

Loki pulled back, his eyes blazing. "We shall see, Anthony." 

Tony kissed him again, with all the promise he could convey. There was a reason he had survived for so long, alone - he was waiting for the perfect mate, and here it was in the form of a being that had once hunted him. The irony wasn't lost on him, and Pepper would get a kick out of it. 

While Loki packed his worldly belongings and resigned from the brotherhood (formalities, really - them making out was a direct violation), Tony leaned against the wall he had been laughing against earlier. He looked up at the sky, the stars almost out as the sunset waned. He called Pepper and had her secure two tickets under his real name, promising to explain everything when they got home. 

_Home_ \- because he knew with Loki there, it finally would be. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Dragon Tony.
> 
> Tell me what you thought, and we also accept suggestions too! Don't forget to check out Shi-Toyu's version! :)


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